Standing Arrangement
by LittleLongHairedOutlaw
Summary: They have an agreement whereby he meets her in her dressing room after her performances. And what happens there is only between them. (Philippe/Sorelli, NSFW)


**A/N: This is very much an NSFW piece. I argued with myself over whether or not I'd post it here considering that it is reasonably explicit, but I decided I would. Namely in the spirit of rarepair love!**

 **A note on names: Corinne is Sorelli. It's a name I sometimes like to give her.**

 **Go forth and enjoy the smut! Unless you're underage in which case TURN BACK NOW NOTHING TO SEE HERE**

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They meet in her dressing room, as is their custom. He brings red roses, and she takes one, slides the stem behind his ear and twines it into his blonde hair, the red and gold burning warm. She has already swapped her costume for her dress, removed her heavy stage makeup and sent her dresser away, and he locks the door behind him. They do not exchange pleasantries, do not utter a single word. She simply presses her lips to his, and the kiss is all the greeting they need.

She lays the roses down on the vanity, and he hangs his tophat on the back of her door, pulling off one glove, and then the other. With her nimble fingers she undoes the clasp of his cloak, and it pools on the floor as he kisses her neck, lays her down on the divan. Gently his fingers untie the back of her dress, and he pulls it down to reveal the white of her corset beneath. He knows the ties, knows the hooks and clasps, and by now can open the corset without looking, without lifting his head from her collarbone. The smooth line of her collarbone is an endless fascination to him, and he kisses along the length of it, soft kisses re-learning her, the contours of her skin. She throws her head back to give him better access, already feeling warm throbbing in that central part of her between her legs as she unbuttons his dinner jacket, and her fingers carefully loosen his tie.

He pulls her corset free to reveal her full breasts, and a shiver runs through him at the sight of them. Those breasts have tainted him, tormented him, and he has awoken in the night longing for the soft weight of them in his hands. He cups one in his hand, the smooth skin sending a thrill to his navel, and he kisses and nuzzles and flicks his tongue over her nipple.

She whimpers, shifting beneath him, already parting her legs but it is not time yet, not time, and she tugs his shirt free from his trousers, flattens her hand against the smooth expanse of his stomach. Her eyes are closed and she cannot see it, is barely away of it with the tingling in her belly and his wet mouth around her nipple and the warmth of his body against her, but her fingers find the trail of sandy hair that leads from his navel down, down into his trousers, and she follows that soft trail, ruffling and smoothing and he gasps against her breast when she unbuttons his trousers, and slips her hand inside.

He leaves her breast, heat coiling now beneath his navel, and kisses a trail down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her bellybutton, tasting her, feeling her. If he were a poet he would write odes to her belly button, pay it its due, but he can only kiss it, and nuzzle it, and leave it to lay a path of kisses to her hipbone. The crease of her hipbone is gentle, and if he could he would map it, that slight dip between waist and thigh, and he feels the unbearable longing to bruise her dark skin with his lips, so he sucks it, sucks it until he gasps with the raking of her nails along his back, and he trails further down, her legs parting to welcome him.

In the thatch of dark hair between her legs he finds it, the little nub that beckons him, that makes her whimper and moan and her eyes roll, and he lays his tongue to it, flicks it. She gasps, her legs clenching around him, his hands curling around her hips, thumbs smoothing circles into her stomach as he licks and strokes. She is wet down here, wet and ready as she thrusts into his face, the smell of her hot and heady, and her taste plucking a chord deep within him.

His tongue is gentle, infinitely gentle, but infinite gentleness is what that part of her demands and her body hums for him, her eyes open to the misty world as her hands tighten in his hair, begging him to keep going. Her heart pounds his name as he licks, _Philippe Philippe Philippe_ , and she thrusts into his face, willing him harder and faster and harder and one of his hands leaves her waist, a slender finger slipping inside of her, inside, and it burns only a moment, a second finger joining it, as she thrusts and gasps and thrusts, the tightening coming beneath her navel, her breaths short gasps and she can't breathe can't breathe can't—

Her chest heaves, and it's an explosion in her stomach, an overflowing of warmth as his tongue stutters against her, and he kisses her, there in that secret place between her legs, soft, gentle kisses as her back arches and the lights dance before her eyes, her brain fuzzy as her body falls back to the divan; and his arms are encircling her, his lips kissing her neck again.

It takes her several minutes to catch her breath, and he keeps kissing her until she raises him, presses her lips to his and tastes her own sweet taste on them. The kisses are small, slight ones, tender and slow, and she feels the length of him pressing hard against her stomach, and she spreads her legs.

"May I?" he whispers into her mouth, his voice hoarse, the first words they've spoken, and she breathes back, _yes,_ her hands pulling his trousers down from around his hips.

A moment later she feels it, the strange, piercing sensation as he eases himself inside of her, that fullness that comes only from this, and he buries his face in her throat, his back arched as he thrusts in time with the moving of her hips, two, three, four times and then she feels the strangled gasp of his breath against her throat, and the spreading warmth as he spills inside of her, his body collapsing heavy on top of hers.

She kisses his hair, rubs her hands gently up and down his back as he shudders and catches his breath and then, as he raises his head to kiss her on the lips she whispers, "I love you, Philippe," and he replies, smiling faintly with tired eyes, "I love you too, Corinne."

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 **A/N: Please do let me know what you think! It's a while since I've written smut of any sort, so to have some feedback on it would be lovely.**


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